Much Ado About You(9)

“How cool. Does that mean you grew up here?”

“Born and raised. Where in America are you from?”

“Chicago.”

“Ah, big-city lass then?” she teased. “Living here will be quite the change of pace.”

“A much-needed change of pace.”

“I sense a story there. Perhaps you’ll come back in this evening and tell me all about it.”

I hadn’t known what to expect from the locals. Would they resent tourists coming in and running one of their stores, be indifferent, or embrace temporary residents? I was glad Milly was so friendly.

“I’d like that.”

After I paid up and said goodbye to Milly, I walked around the small village. The bookstore was on the very end of the coastline. There wasn’t anything beyond it but a few houses before the road ended and the cliff tops began. There was a path along the cliffs, made over the years by people traversing them, so I decided I’d put some time aside at some point to take a walk along it. On the opposite side of the village, however, where The Anchor was, was the main hub of Alnster. There was The Alnster Inn, a post office, a convenience store, a butcher shop, a bakery, a tourist shop, a café, and an art gallery/jeweler. There seemed to be two establishments to a building with lanes between each. I ventured down those cobblestoned lanes to find idyllic, quaint cottages tucked away at the end.

Back on the main road, heading away from that central hub, the village opened up into what was a housing development. The houses weren’t as quaint here, but they looked out over the water. A playground sat above the sand dunes on the opposite side of the road.

Following the sand-encrusted sidewalk along the houses, I took a turn in the road and realized the homes reached far along the coastal land. Although I spotted a small primary school, there weren’t signs of much else, and I deduced that the children more than likely had to get a bus to a high school in a larger nearby town.

After walking back toward the main street, I’d just passed The Anchor when a dog raced past me, yanking my attention away from the details of the village. The dog made my breath catch, and I hurried after it, my heart racing a little.

“Duke?” The name fell from my lips even though I knew it wasn’t him.

I drew to a stumbled halt at the sight of the large, black, elegant Great Dane as it followed its nose along an invisible line on the sidewalk. He was the spitting image of my dog Duke. We adopted Duke when he was one year old, and we’d had him until he died of old age at nine. We’d gotten him only three months after my father died, and Duke passed away just after my fifteenth birthday. His death was heartbreaking, and it also brought back a lot of memories. It had been like losing my dad all over again.

“Shadow!” a male voice bellowed from behind me.

I was just about to turn toward that voice when the Great Dane followed whatever it was he smelled into the middle of the road.

Right near the blind bend toward the hill.

My feet moved, seemingly with a mind of their own.

“Shadow, come here, boy!”

Right then I heard the hum of a car engine and quickened my steps as the Great Dane suddenly lifted his head in my direction. Then the car appeared. Before I knew it, I was running, my eyes on the dog and the car.

The car that wasn’t slowing!

Heart in my throat, I dashed out onto the road, grabbed the startled Dane by the collar, and hauled him with me to the other side of the street. At the last minute, my foot caught on something, my weak left ankle turning on itself.

Down I went.

Pain scored across my knees and left hand as I shook my head, discombobulated.

A snuffling sound in my ear brought my head up to the side, and my nose met the cold wet one of the Dane. His head bent toward me as he stared inquisitively into my eyes, and I realized I still had a tight grip on his collar.

“Jesus Christ, Shadow, look what you’ve done.” A deep male voice sounded near. “Are you okay?”

Slumping to my side, I turned toward the voice I deduced was addressing me, my head falling back as I looked up.

Blinking against the bright sky, I wondered for a moment if the car had hit me, killed me, and now I was in heaven.

Because the most beautiful man I’d ever seen was staring down at me.





Four


I blinked rapidly, thinking the image before me would disappear, a mirage from the fall . . . but it didn’t.

The man lowered to his haunches in front of me, reaching out to get a hold of the dog without removing his gaze from mine. His warm dark brown eyes wandered over my face, his expression seeming to waver between awe and concern. “Are you okay?” he repeated.

The question drew my attention to his mouth. A somewhat scruffy beard surrounded compelling lips, the bottom full in comparison to the top. My mother would call it a Harrison Ford mouth. I’d call it a Matt Davis mouth.

Oh my God, how long had I been staring at his mouth?

“We need to get you off this road.” He nodded encouragingly. “Are you okay to move? Or is my dog in danger of being sued?” That devastating mouth of his curled at the corners to let me know he was teasing.

Realizing I was staring at him like a moron, I glanced back at his dog. “I can move.”

“Are you hurt?” The stranger stood, pulling the Great Dane into his side with one hand, while he held out the other to me.